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Stephen from London was huge next to me. His muscles were solid against my side, and his eyes were dark with want as he lit up a fresh cigarette. This time I waved away his offer of a drag. I didn’t want anything from him, but my pussy didn’t agree with me. My pussy was demanding a dick inside it after a lifetime without.
Lucian.
I had no idea where we were headed, other than some drummer’s place in some street downtown. My footsteps obeyed the man at my side, my stilettos still loud underneath me. His hand moved to my ass and squeezed, and it made me flinch.
“I hope you know my dick takes every hole I want.” He laughed. “Get ready to give me all of yours.”
I didn’t laugh back, but my footsteps kept on obeying.
“Drink up,” he said and tipped my beer back against my mouth. It dribbled down my chin, but I kept on swigging. “Almost there,” he told me.
He was tensing up. I could feel it.
I was tensing up. I could feel it.
The jangle of keys in his hand told me we were there. We climbed some metal stairs, dangerous under my heels. My heart raced, but I kept on moving.
He opened the door at the top, and the drummer’s apartment was a shithole, bottles and duvets strewn all over the floor. It stank of cigarette smoke, just like Stephen from London did.
“Now, give me that pussy,” he said and slammed me into the nearest wall.
His mouth was hot on my neck. Frantic.
His body was hot against my chest. Wanting.
My legs spread, letting him grind. My pussy tingled, wanting to be taken.
But it was my flesh and not me.
Lucian.
Stephen from London wasn’t the man I wanted. I wanted Lucian.
The one time in my life I managed to get a dick brave enough to be inside me, and I wanted another man enough to push him away. I shunted him off me, hard, and Stephen from London stared at me with shock on his face.
“What the fuck? You looking for a johnny? Don’t worry, baby, I got one right here.”
I wasn’t looking for a condom. I was looking for an exit.
I shoved him away again when he leaned back in.
“Sorry,” I managed, “I have to go.”
“Go?” he asked and didn’t move a muscle. “Where the hell do you need to go to right now?”
I didn’t have an answer, so I didn’t give him one, just pushed my way to the side.
That’s when he grabbed me, and his voice turned darker.
“I left the fucking party for you. I could’ve had any fucking snatch in that place.”
“I’m sure the party’s still rocking,” I said, and I was laughing. “Sorry, Stephen. Didn’t mean to waste your time.”
“You ain’t wasting it,” he replied. “I’m not gonna let you.”
He pushed me back up hard against the wall. That’s when his mouth met with mine, and his tongue forced its way inside. That’s when he kissed me deep enough that my drunken haze disappeared under the adrenaline rush.
He was rough. I should’ve liked it.
His dick was hard against me, grinding through my dress. I should’ve liked that too.
Lucian.
Stephen from London didn’t look as much like Lucian Morelli up close. His kiss was sloppy, and his brows were far messier. His cheekbones were less sculpted, and his jaw was weaker.
He didn’t taste like Lucian Morelli either. He tasted of cheap beer and cigarettes.
I pushed him away again, third time lucky.
“Let me go, and get back to the fucking party,” I said, but he sneered at me.
“I’m not going fucking anywhere except inside that pussy of yours,” he whispered, and I knew it then. I knew it in that moment. I saw it in his eyes.
Stephen from London wasn’t a nice man.
Stephen from London was taking my virginity at any price.
I didn’t want it. I didn’t want Stephen from London to take my virginity. Not even if I should’ve. Not even if I should’ve liked to be claimed, just like I’d been dreaming about ever since I knew what dreams like that really were.
“No,” I said, but his mouth was back on my neck.
My hands were weak against him. My stilettos were unsteady.
“No,” I said again, but he didn’t listen.
“I mean it,” I said. “Get back to that fucking party and get some other girl.”
His eyes were darker than ever when they met mine, his breaths were fast, and his dick was hard.
“I’m Elaine Constantine,” I told him. “Rebecca damn Marsh is a lie.”
“I don’t give a fuck who you are,” he sneered. “Tonight, your damn pussy is mine.”
He didn’t know who I was. Holy shit, he didn’t know who I was.
He didn’t know he was signing his death sentence if anyone in my world found out about this, and my threats wouldn’t make any difference to him. Stephen from London was going to take me.
